


Proximity in Distance

by Pollys_hymnia



Series: Rare Pair Love Affair [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Divergence, Epistolary, Firesong - Freeform, Love Letters, M/M, Nicer to Daeron than his daughter, Number 1 crackship, Slightly nosey kings, but that's another matter, turned otp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pollys_hymnia/pseuds/Pollys_hymnia
Summary: After their parting following the Mereth Aderthad, Fëanor writes to Daeron.  Thingol is concerned about the obviously Noldorin letters.
Relationships: Daeron/Fëanor, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Daeron (Tolkien)
Series: Rare Pair Love Affair [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1413193
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Proximity in Distance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [actuallyfeanor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/actuallyfeanor/gifts).



> Un-secret, un-Santa sequel to "Though I've Handled the Wood, I Still Worship the Flame" & "The Ashes in My Wake."

If Thingol suspected from whom the obviously Noldorin letters had come, he said nothing. He trusted Daeron implicitly, though he did wonder what he could possibly have to do with the kinslayers. He could hardly believe the whispered rumors about Daeron and the Mereth Aderthad. Those had to be patently false or at least exaggerated. That he could be on and friendly terms with Fëanor, in particular, was unthinkable. Still, when the most recent delivery had come for Daeron, Thingol decided at least to question him about it.

He came himself to deliver the letter, knocking softly at Daeron’s door.

Daeron opened it, surprise quickly spreading across his face, “My Lord?”

Thingol held out the still-sealed scroll to Daeron, “You have another delivery.”

Daeron took it, fearful the contents had been read if even in part, but the seal was unbroken.

“You know I trust you, Daeron, but I must wonder where these letters come from and what matter they concern. Do you deny they are from the kinslayers—the Noldor?”

Daeron took a moment to gather his thoughts and attempted also to still the wild racing of his heart, “My Lord, I thank you for your trust and I have ever wished to serve you. Nor would I wish to deceive you. You are correct in that this letter—and others—have been sent to me by one of Noldorin descent. However, it is a quite… delicate matter that they concern. There is no motivation aside from personal, and I pray we leave it at that. It is difficult to speak of, and still troubles my heart greatly.”

Thingol’s voice was soft, and though there was obvious hesitation in his voice he continued to speak, “Has someone disappointed you… in love?”

Daeron’s face paled a shade and he let slip a heavy sigh, “That I cannot deny, though the disappointment at least was on both sides. A joining would be impossible—for many reasons.”

Thingol nodded, “You loved this person, I can read it in your face, and I have often wondered who you now sing of in your songs. If you love _him_ so, perhaps the barriers you thought you perceived, can be surmounted? Though I have no love for that people, I hate to see you suffer.” 

Daeron said nothing. However generous his king’s words were—and he was somewhat surprised by his compassion in this matter—Daeron knew that would quickly change if he learned who the letters were actually from. 

Thingol let the silence draw on a few moments then turned to leave, “I hope you consider my words, and you know I have your best interests at heart. It is a hard thing to be parted from one you love. I will leave you now.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Daeron said genuinely though his smile was bitter. He wished he could take advantage of his king’s mercy, but it was impossible. 

After Thingol left, Daeron broke the seal to the letter. He unrolled the parchment and began to read the bold and elegant tengwar there written in Fëanor’s own hand. He prayed Thingol never discovered the truth.

My Dearest Daeron,

I do not know why I continue to write you so and it grows continually more difficult to find messengers to bear my letters into the Hidden Kingdom. But I do not think that I could stop, now or ever. I know I have had your answer in the past, but will you not reconsider joining me here? I miss you more by the hour, if that is possible for one of immortal race. 

I hope this letter finds you well. I am as well as I can be in these circumstances, and the war against The Enemy continues. I feel we have made progress, or at least hemmed him into a tighter space. But I am sure that is no news to your ears. Perhaps I have nothing pleasing to offer you or your ears at all? But I will try to convey what love I can that once excited a passion within you.

I remember when we first met, I had not looked to find one so talented? So great? As you. While words fail me here, I could not fail to notice you. You far outshine all others, like a bright red flower in a cold, grey world. Your music, like a storm in the desert speaking in thunder. Nor did I look to find one I should come to know and come to love, and to be known and loved by in turn. 

It is true we both have complex pasts, but that time is gone. Could we not leave behind that which draws us apart? What new life might we make together in this future? 

I can hear your rebuttal as though you were still here with me, what future you would ask? Maybe you are right, and maybe our days will not be long in this world. Is that not all the more reason to spare what time we have? And there is always hope.

In hope and despair both, I need you with me. What I am otherwise, must remain incomplete. You would not be wrong to say that it may always be so, now. And if by being with me I would burden you or bind you to whatever fate awaits me, I would not have it so. But still, I miss you. 

With hope, I will leave you. I still have hope to see you again, and hear the soft notes rising from your harp as we look overhead and watch the stars turn slowly in the night. I watch them now, tonight. Perhaps we look on the same stars, even now. And where I am, you are with me also, in my heart.

Yours,

Fëanáro

This was the third such letter that Daeron had received. He had not answered the others, both because he thought it useless and too painful. And the words did not come.

Now, he could not help but answer. Daeron wished more than ever before that he could give in to Fëanor’s request and join him. Still, nothing had changed. 

He took a piece of crisp parchment from his desk and began to write in firm, but flowing Cirth.

My Love,

I had watched the stars this very night, and thought somehow I felt your presence. And though I watched the moon rise and set, still I was alone. I wish it were not so. I would have you here with me, or I with you.

It is true there is always hope in seeming, if not in being. When the world was new, and full of dreams, still not every hope came to be. You know the shape of my heart, written into my songs. I love you no less though my answer must remain in a word, ‘no.’ 

I too can hear your rebuttal, but you yourself have said it. Would you bind me, too, to your oath? My heart forebodes where your words will lead you in the end. And though I know it cannot now be undone, maybe then we could have been together. Or even in the fulfillment of your oath, what then? Neither you nor I have ever made promises lightly, what now could we swear to each other?

We will make no promises or oaths. But perhaps you are right, and there is hope—though it be slight. Perhaps fate will hear us. But for now, I still have my duty. I do not know if we will meet again, but we may. And while your words make fresh the deep longing of my heart and sadness at our parting, they bring some comfort. You are a distant star, as bright in memory as in being, and though you cannot now touch my skin, you touch my heart. 

And so I will hope, immovable as the world turns around me, around us.

Ever yours,

Daeron

Finding a messenger for his own letter would also prove difficult, but not impossible. For a moment, Daeron could almost convince himself that all things were possible, however unlikely. And even when that moment passed, hope remained.


End file.
